RSM
Struwig stood rigidly to attention. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
He clenched his jaw. He felt like a delinquent schoolboy, summoned
to the headmaster’s office.

Colonel
Viljoen had been ranting for an hour already. The high-pitched nasal
voice bored into RSM Struwig’s skull like a dentist’s
drill. What really annoyed him was that despite his years of
exemplary service to the army and his position as a senior warrant
officer, the Colonel treated him as a troop caught sleeping on watch
duty. The RSM controlled his anger with difficulty.

“I
really don’t know why I trouble with you, Struwig. You
disgraced this unit; you disgraced the army, for God’s
sake. You should be court-marshalled for what you did last night.
Why we even attempt to save your sorry backside is beyond me.”

“Because
some of the shit will stick to your lily white hands,” thought
RSM Struwig maliciously. He clenched his jaw even harder.

Colonel
Viljoen’s phone interrupted him in mid-tirade. He picked it up
with a scowl. “I said that I am not to be disturbed,” he
shouted at his secretary.

Colonel
Viljoen blanched. He occasionally replied, “Ja Generaal”
(Yes, General) or “Nee Generaal” (No, General) in
a strangled voice. The shouting finally stopped. The click!
when the phone was slammed down on the other side, was clearly
audible to RSM Struwig.

Colonel
Viljoen drew an unsteady breath. He glared at RSM Struwig and picked
up the phone once more. “Alida, please send the Adjutant to my
office” he asked his secretary. The now-quiet Colonel stared
icily at the RSM, while they waited.

Two
minutes later, the Adjutant, Major Celliers, poked his head round the
door. “You’re looking for me Colonel?” he asked.

“Take
this idiot to his office. Post a guard on his door. He does not
leave and he sees nobody,” hissed Colonel Viljoen. See
to it that his telephone line is blocked. He does not make
calls and he does not receive calls. Are we clear on this,
Major?”

“Absolutely,
Colonel. I’ll see to it personally.”

“I
have been summoned to VHK (Verdedigingshoofkwartier –
Defence Headquarters). Be ready to start arranging a few courts
marshal on very short notice. Your orders will come directly from
the Chief of the Defence Force’s office. I should return in a
couple of hours.”

Major
Celliers came to attention and saluted Colonel Viljoen. “Come,
RSM,” he said as he left the office. RSM Struwig also saluted
Colonel Viljoen. The colonel ignored the salute disgustedly.

Major
Celliers entered RSM Struwig’s office and sat down behind his
desk. “Close the door and sit down” he ordered the RSM.

“I
am ordered around in my own office,” thought RSM Struwig
bitterly, as he sat down on one of the two chairs in front of the
desk.

“The
manure really hit the fan this time, didn’t it, RSM?”
Major Celliers enjoyed the RSM’s discomfiture. He had always
resented the man’s crudeness and lack of common courtesy.

“What
on earth happened? I still don’t get the long and the short of
this whole unholy mess.”

“I
tried to impose some discipline on the new recruits, Sir.” RSM
Struwig’s dislike of the Adjutant was mutual. He regarded
Major Celliers as a pompous ass that did not know his arse from his
elbow when it came to training troops.

“By
kicking them in the ribs and earning yourself the wrath of the
President in the process? Forgive me if my insignificant little
brain cannot grasp your logic, RSM. Please explain why you felt you
had to assault a troop in front of the whole camp to improve his
discipline.”

“When
I came aware of the situation, the whole peleton were in open
defiance of their corporal. I had to put a stop to their little
mutiny there and then.”

“I
agree, RSM, we can never allow the troops to rebel against authority.
It is a recipe for disaster, but don’t you agree that you went
a bit too far?”

“Major,
you know that one has to fight fire with fire. These troops had to
be disciplined right away. That rebellious spirit had to be
immediately crushed with maximum force. There can never be any doubt
about who is in control. Without that, the whole indoctrination
process would fall flat on its face. What would happen if these
troops questioned orders under fire?”

“I
do not question your reasons, RSM, only your method. One does not go
around disciplining troops by kicking them half to death. You should
keep a leash on that temper of yours.”

RSM
Struwig nearly snorted derisively, but bit his tongue just in time.

“Granted,
our little VIP should not have been here in the first place. He
should have been posted to another Corps. Infantry training is not
for the likes of him. Without him in the equation, we would have
been able to salvage your career. Now that this whole mess has been
escalated to God knows where, I think that you are headed for some
disciplinary action yourself. It is a shame that you are dragging
all of us down with you, but I suppose that we have to cope as best
as we can.”

Major
Celliers got up from behind the desk. “I can’t sit
chatting with you all day, RSM. Some of us still have work to do.
See to it that all your paperwork is up to date. It will make
matters a bit easier for your successor. Remember, the Colonel
ordered your phone cut off and you are not to leave this office. So;
no calls to the Old Boys Network and no interfering with the
investigation. Do you understand, RSM?” Without waiting for
an answer, the Adjutant left the office. The door slammed loudly
behind his back.

RSM
Struwig was finally alone. He was still dazed by his sudden fall
from grace. Barely twelve hours ago, he was one of the most
respected disciplinarians in Training Command and at the pinnacle of
a career that spanned nearly thirty years. Now, he was a failure –
worse than a failure – a perceived criminal. What he could not
comprehend, was that he served the army to the best of his ability.
If it were not for that snot-nosed relative of the President, none of
this would have happened. RSM Struwig abhorred favouritism in any
form. He had worked so hard to get to where he was now, and it all
came crashing down on him in a couple of hours.

He
remembered his childhood. His early years were filled with love and
happiness. His father was the most important person in his life. He
had always modeled his life on what he believed his father would have
wanted.

Piet
Struwig’s father was an underground electrician at
Wes-Driefontein mine, outside Carletonville. Wes-Driefontein is one
of the deepest gold mines in the world. The family stayed in a mine
house, about three kilometres from Number Three Shaft, where Piet’s
father worked. He was eight years old when an underground rock fall
killed his father and six other miners. Piet's happy childhood was
brought to an abrupt end on that day.

Luckily,
Piet’s mother found employment in the mine’s admin
offices and the family could stay on in the mine house. Her salary
was considerably smaller than what her husband had earned. Mrs.
Struwig battled to provide for Piet and his two younger sisters.
There was no money for luxuries, but they never went hungry. Anna
Struwig taught her children the value of hard work and doing a job
to the best of their ability.

Piet
Struwig left school at the age of sixteen. He would have liked to
complete his high school career, but felt honour-bound to help his
mother support their family. He joined the army two days after his
sixteenth birthday. He rose through the ranks slowly, but steadily.
He kept his nose clean and took his mother's advice to heart to
always do anything he did to the best of his ability. At the age of
fifty-two he was at the pinnacle of his career. He could look
forward to a care-free retirement in eight years' time, and now this!

RSM
Struwig's temper flared up once more. He hated all forms of
nepotism. If he had to come up through the ranks, why should the
politicians' friends and families be treated differently? Why should
Private Nel's life be handed to him on a silver platter? Just
because he is related to the Bothas? And this nonsense of not
allowed to discipline a troop properly? Where did that come from?
The fat piece of shit was malingering, it was as clear as daylight.
No, the brass were out to get him. They were never comfortable with
honest, hard working people in their midst. But he would be buggered
if he would let them fuck up his career. He had been screwed over
too many times in the past to let them get away with it once more.
With his anger boiling over, RSM Struwig nearly drove his balled fist
through the prefabricated wall of his office.